Carved From Stone
by Lady Pele
Summary: Sereda Aeducan braves a new world post a bitter exile from Orzammar, memories of her brother's betrayal and her love, Gorim, haunting her thoughts nightly. Fighting the Blight and searching for Gorim, her life never fails to take unexpected turns.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** The story follows the storyline of Dragon Age Origins, beginning with the dwarf noble origin.

All the characters from the game belong to Bioware and the original characters to me.

I want to mention that I have used a good bit of dialogue directly from the game, which I do not take any credit for. My intention in that usage is not to claim those dialogues are my work, but to expand upon them and use them as a basis for the original story progression turns I will eventually give this tale.

Reviews are much appreciated!

**Chapter One**

The night was chilly and the skies painted in hues of ebony, deep blue, and streaks of orange. Sereda lay awake, as she did nearly all her nights, watching the endless sky shift and change. She had hoped the pain would recede, ebbing away slowly like blood from a freshly gouged wound. But it didn't. It festered and burned, and she was forced to relive it every night, a waking nightmare that played on loop, spinning through her mind till it reached the same eventual climactic conclusion.

**...**

"Trian has begun to move against you." Bhelen shifted his feet and took on a concerned gaze. His serious tone worried her. Bhelen was rarely ever so grim; he was the brother she counted on to make her smile. And he had certainly never said anything like this before.

"I never thought his much-proclaimed honor would allow him to actually act on his jealousy," Bhelen continued. "Big sister, Trian is going to try to kill you." The room seemed to take on a sinister gleam, every lamp, bookcase, and jewel seeming to mock her. Sereda scoured the room, hoping to find a glass of water. Or something much stronger.

Her eyes bore into Bhelen's, hoping to find some trace of amusement, willing this to be an elaborate ruse he had planned, a farce where he would soon break into a grin and say something like, "Trian will indeed kill us all…from boredom!"

But nothing came. No punch line. No laughter.

"What?" Sereda finally forced herself to ask.

"I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't overheard him giving orders to his men." Bhelen said. He paused, seeming to consider his words carefully. "Trian's decided you're a threat to his taking the throne. Maybe he's right." Sereda exhaled, her breath shallow and ragged. This was ridiculous. It wasn't as though Sereda was any stranger to dwarven politics; she had studied her lineage in great detail, been schooled in history, and had firsthand witnessed the subtle double crossings that went on daily at court. But Trian? Her own brother?

"How am I a threat to Trian?" she asked softly.

"He fears what you are becoming, in the eyes of the people and the Assembly," Bhelen said. Still absurd, but unfortunately believable. Their father, King Endrin, had made a practice of bringing Sereda to court and even allowing her to give her opinions on important court matters at times. She was no manipulative diplomat, but her blunt honesty and empathetic stances had earned her respect in the court, and she knew that she had her father's favor. As for the Assembly, it was hard for her to truly tell, but she had gotten the impression its members had found themselves developing an affinity towards her, though she was not overly traditional in her outlook.

Bhelen spoke, as though reading her thoughts: "Trian's the named prince, but only the Assembly can proclaim a ruler. It would be unusual for the Assembly to ignore the king's choice, but it does happen."

"The founder of House Bemot became a Paragon and king in one move from the Assembly, and he was a commoner," Gorim said. Sereda glanced at Gorim; he had remained silent thus far and she had begun to worry he would not give his opinion in front of her brother. His face was stoic and impenetrable but his eyes showed specks of consternation. She knew he would protect her with every fiber of his being and be proud to have her crowned. But then they would never be able to be truly together, be married. It was going to be an uphill battle even now that he was her second in command and she a princess; tongues would wag, the nobles would surely say Lady Aeducan had married beneath her. Sereda frowned at the thought. She couldn't care less about caste; Gorim was her love, her soul, the integrity within her that she would have lost years ago if not for his gentle reminders of who she really was deep within.

"The first Aeducan king wasn't even part of the house's leading family," Bhelen continued, forcing her thoughts back to the matter at hand." His mouth turned upwards in a wry smile. "If you win glory against the darkspawn tomorrow, it will only strengthen the case for you as the next heir." Sereda's eyes caught Gorim's, beseeching him to speak, to give his honest opinion. Tears prickled her eyes at the mere thought of being forced to kill her own kin and she willed them away. She had to stay strong.

"Permission to speak freely?" Gorim asked, staring at her.

"Of course, my friend," she said.

"Trian would make a terrible king, but no one wants to say it. Killing him now makes your house stronger and saves a great deal of bloodshed later," Gorim said. Sereda nodded.

"You're right. But still, let's wait," she said. "See what Trian does."

That was the beginning. The beginning of the end, and she had been an unsuspecting fool. Sereda stared into the sky; it had turned a rich ebony, hiding its secrets deep within its folds. Even then, Sereda remembered achingly, though she trusted Bhelen implicitly and believed that Trian may try to kill her, she had been willing to wait and let him make the first move. She couldn't have conceived of wishing harm on a brother for any amount of power or glory. And Gorim; they had not even gotten the chance for a last night together.

She sat on her bed, shoulders shaking. A light knock sounded at the door, then two quick ones. It was their sign. She tiptoed to the door and partially opened it; Gorim slipped in. He looked at her for a long moment.

"I am sorry it has come to this, my lady," he said quietly. Sereda looked at him silently, feeling hot tears sting her eyes. Then she let herself fall into his arms, sobbing as quietly and with as much dignity as she could muster. She felt him kiss the top of her head, then forehead. Gently, he tilted her head up and kissed her lips.

"My heart, I know you. I know you would sooner die than kill a brother, but look at this objectively. This is not only about you, but about Orzammar. You would make a better ruler for the people. If what Bhelen says is true and Trian plans to kill you to secure what is already his, what does that say about the way he will lead?" Sereda breathed deeply, trying to calm her thoughts. On one hand, Gorim was right. It was the only logical choice. On the other hand, it was still her brother they were talking about. Slowly, she exhaled.

"You are right. I cannot allow myself to be weak if Trian makes his move. But it is just so abhorrent to me that it would come to this. If he would only have spoken to me, told me that he fears my interference, I would have backed off as much as I could. It is true that we have never been close. But surely Trian knows that I would never directly act against him."

"You are a devastatingly charming woman, my lady," Gorim said, his mouth turning upwards into a sly smile. Hands reaching out, he held her close. "Irresistible, some would say. Perhaps he feared your charm would enrapture both the people and Assembly till they'd unanimously flail and beg for you to be queen."

"Is that so?" Sereda asked, allowing a small grin to escape. "Sounds wonderful. So when I'm queen then, I suppose that same charm will make some unsuspecting noble fall desperately for me and ask me to marry him." Gorim abruptly drew back, hands dropping from her waist. His face was calm but his eyes were fiery pools of molten lava. She could practically feel the heat burning through her.

"And you would have to say yes," he said. "It would only be appropriate." Sereda pulled him back towards her and looked up at him.

"Never," she said. Her blue eyes were clear, vulnerable in their sincerity. Reaching up, she kissed him deeply, feeling his tense body relax against hers. His lips burned her skin, traveling downwards. She reached to tug off his armor when sounds of movement came from the hallway. Gorim pulled away, breathing heavily.

"Dear heart, we mustn't be caught together, not tonight. There is too much at stake tomorrow. We must be as alert as possible." Catching her look of disappointment, he sighed. "I wish things were simpler. If only we could…but this is no time for such talk. Tomorrow we mark the first day of your command in battle. Let's show everyone you're a force to be reckoned with." Sereda smiled.

"We'll have a training workout some other time then," she grinned. With a quick last kiss, Gorim let himself out the door. Sereda lay down on her bed, thinking about the next day and all that was still unknown.

**...**

She suddenly heard a sound from one of the tents and quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Apparently not soon enough.

"Still awake, huh? Yeah, I've had those nights. Dreams of the archdemon still troubling you?" Alistair. He walked up next to her where the flask filled with water lay and picked it up, drinking deeply.

"Yes, that too, I suppose," Sereda said vagely. She had tried to keep her life before being recruited as a Grey Warden as private as possible. It was no one's business but her own. She felt a bit of guilt as well, knowing full well that her motivations to fight against the Blight fell a bit short of worthy.

"So…not the Blight. I don't suppose this has anything to do with those pretty sandals we saw the ladies wearing in Redcliffe, does it? Because I'm sure we could get you some. Now that we've saved their village and all. Maybe a pair for me too, while we're at it." Alistair gave her an overtly cheery grin, which immediately deflated when she weakly mustered a chuckle.

"I'm sorry. I'm not very good at comforting people. Makes me nervous and act all…strange," he said, shifting awkwardly. He sighed. "You were remembering Orzammar, weren't you? You never talk about it, you know. I've wanted to ask you about whatever it is that happened…but I didn't want to intrude." Sereda propped herself up and tossed a few twigs into the fire, fanning the flames.

"You know it all already, really. Princess of Orzammar, brother betrayed me, exiled forever. What more is there?" she asked sullenly. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. She waited for Alistair to get up and return to his tent. He didn't.

"Come on. You can talk to me. I promise I won't blackmail you. Well, not for an amount you couldn't pay anyway," he said. She managed a smile.

"Well. If you really want to know," she said. Alistair propped himself onto his elbows and looked at her expectantly.

"My younger brother Bhelen had convinced me that our older brother, Trian, was going to kill me. Bhelen's claim was that Trian saw me as a threat to the throne and quite honestly, it was an assertion I could believe. I had made myself ready to strike at Trian should he try to assassinate me. What I hadn't expected was Bhelen's betrayal…"

**...**

Sereda felt her senses tingling, awake and sharp. Adrenaline was coursing through her body from fighting darkspawn. The others had been surprised that she had actually seen any darkspawn at all in those areas of the Deep Roads and were a bit apologetic but she had relished it. Her blade slashing oily darkspawn flesh felt good. It was an enemy she could unabashedly and unapologetically destroy, without any qualms or sadness. Not like Trian, whose signet ring she had found with the henchmen who had tried to kill her. She had mercilessly hacked at them all, one by one, screaming for Gorim, her friend and fellow warrior Frandlin Ivo, and the scout to let her take them down alone. It was shocking to her that it had actually happened. At least her small group had managed to figure out how to get the Shield of Aeducan after that; it would look good for her that she had acquired it in case of trouble. She prepared herself to find an ambush from Trian any moment.

The moment she approached the rendezvous point, she knew that something was wrong. There was an unnatural stillness in the air. The lack of sound made her skin crawl. As she got closer, she saw it. A body. Trian's body. She inhaled a sharp intake of air and ran over.

"By the Stone, it's Trian!" Gorim exclaimed. Sereda fell to her knees, bending over her brother's body. This wasn't right, how could this have happened? Had Bhelen done this, trying to protect her? But then, why didn't he tell her? Perhaps someone else had murdered Trian, a lord hoping to weaken the Aeducan name, an angry friend, a—

"Someone's coming!" Gorim said, interrupting her thoughts. Sereda stood up, tense and ready in case the murderers hoped to attack her as well. Instead, King Endrin strode in, Bhelen, Lord Bemot, Lord Meino, and Lord Harrowmount in tow. Their gaze traveled from Trian's body to Sereda's face, gauging, judging.

"My daughter. Tell me this isn't what it looks like," King Endrin said, his face pale with dismay.

"It's not, I assure you," Sereda said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She felt her heart racing; this was all wrong. Trian hadn't attacked her. Who had killed Trian? What was going on?

"Do so. Before my heart tears itself apart," King Endrin said softly.

"She killed Trian, just like he said she would!" Bhelen said, hands wagging emphatically. Sereda turned to him in shock. She found her vocal cords constricting, rendering her speechless. Bhelen? Bhelen had set her up?

"There are witnesses. Ask them what happened," Lord Meino interjected.

"My lady is innocent!" Gorim declared loudly. Sereda took in Gorim's expression. He was staying as calm as he could but Sereda could tell it was taking all his willpower not to strangle Bhelen where he stood. For her part, she felt as though she were trapped in a maze where all exits systematically eluded her. One by one, she watched as the scout and Frandlin Ivo both declared she had walked in and seeing Trian, ordered the group to attack him, killing him in cold blood. She heard Gorim screaming and cursing at Frandlin Ivo, Harrowmount declaring that she must be bound and taken in front of the Assembly, her father's voice asking if she had anything more to say. Sounds, cacophonous sounds, unreal and displaced. She heard her voice whispering "I am innocent," then growing silent. It was a nightmare, a horrible nightmare. How could it be anything else? She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of chains being attached to her wrists. Silently, she allowed herself to be led off to Orzammar, no longer a favored princess returning to a safe haven.

**...**

Alistair was looking at her with an expression she had never seen on his face before. Something akin to horror.

"I'm so sorry," he finally said. "I know that's not enough, not nearly enough for what I mean, but it's all I can think to say." Sereda warmed her hands against the fire, prodding it with a twig. Stars had appeared all across the sky and it had an uncanny, bejeweled appearance to it. As though it were alive.

"And then Duncan came and rescued you, huh," Alistair said. Sereda smiled bitterly. She had been rescued, alright.

"In a manner of speaking, yes..."

**...**

Sereda sat in a corner of the prison, hunched over her knees. Her long blond hair had filled with grime and dust and her wrists ached from the chains. Her mind had turned traitor and filled with memories of her laughing alongside Bhelen, playing pranks together on Trian, teasing and challenging each other while sparring. She had always had a soft spot for Bhelen that she had not for her older brother. Lately, she had even begun to wonder if she could confide in Bhelen about her hopes regarding Gorim. It had seemed that he truly adored his older sister.

Some adoration, she thought sadly.

Strong footsteps echoed through the prison corridor and she swung her head up. Gorim. She stood up as fast as she could and clutched the bars.

"You've got ten minutes ser," she heard the prison guard say.

"Of course. Leave us alone, will you please?" Gorim replied. As the prison guard retreated, Gorim hurried towards her.

"My lady…" he said, his voice choking with emotion. Sereda closed her eyes, feeling his presence near her. So close yet so far.

"I would have come sooner had they allowed it," he said softly, "how are you?"

"I was worried for you."

"And I for you, my heart. I bring little but bad news though." Silently, Sereda listened as Gorim told her how Bhelen had taken Trian's place in the Assembly and introduced a motion to condemn her, how the Assembly had voted for it to pass, how deep Bhelen's machinations must have lain in order for what had just happened to have become possible. Sereda felt her pain intensify and fill with bloodlust.

"I'm going to kill him," she said roughly, teeth grinding on each other. She tasted something acrid in her mouth, vinegary and sour. The aftertaste of hate, she thought to herself dryly.

"I don't know that you'll get that chance," Gorim said. "My knighthood is to be stripped and name torn from my family records. Still, I will be allowed to attempt some sort of life on the surface. Lord Harrowmount moved for a similar exile for you, but Bhelen's supporters overwhelmed him." Gorim paused, eyes searching Sereda's.

"You are to be sealed in the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until you are overwhelmed and killed," Gorim finally said. Sereda scoffed.

"The cowards weren't strong enough to kill me themselves."

"That might have been Bhelen's first mistake. There may still be a chance. Duncan and the Grey Wardens are wandering within the Deep Roads, in tunnels connected to those you are to be left in. If you survive long enough to find the Grey Wardens, you may be able to escape with Duncan." Gorim clutched the prison bars and shook his head angrily.

"I begged to go with you and fight at your side, but Bhelen's pet nobles wouldn't hear of it." Wouldn't want grant me the peace of a last night in my lover's arms, Sereda thought. No, that would be too humane.

"I'll be all right," Sereda said, though she knew nothing would ever be all right again. She wasn't even sure she truly wanted to survive. Perhaps it would be best to let the darkspawn kill her and feast on her carcass. Peace. An eternity of peace. Gorim was staring at her miserably. There was so much she wanted to say to him and never would be able to now. So many hopes and dreams, shattering like flesh upon the execution block.

"I know you will but still…" he said, longing permeating through his voice. Rich and warm, like honeyed ale cider, soothing yet tinged with a sorrow so deep it tore Sereda's heart. They were silent for a moment, hearing the voices of things left unsaid linger somewhere in the space between the prison bars. The sound of coughing filled the space; the prison guard was returning, most likely already worried he had given them more time than allowed. If the nobles decided he was conspiring or giving the accused any undue assistance, he would no doubt soon find himself where Sereda now stood. Gorim sighed. "But our time is up. May the Paragons guide your sword and the Stone hold you up."

"Wait, please."

"We have no time, my heart."

"Just hold me one last time," Sereda said. Her voice cracked. She forced herself to quell the onslaught of tears she felt overflowing within her, the tornado of loss threatening to overpower her. Gorim's eyes shone bright, filming over with unspent moisture.

"The guards won't keep quiet about something like that. Your family will know…"

"Who cares what people think now?" Sereda's nails gripped the prison bars, turning white. She knew that she only had a few more moments of sanity left in her and they had to count. In some ways, it hadn't even sunk in yet, the enormity of what was happening, of what had happened.

"As you say, my dearest one," Gorim said. Reaching through the prison bars he wrapped his arms around her waist and Sereda sunk her head into the crook of his arm, willing herself to disappear into his embrace. If only she could die now…

They clutched each other for a long moment, then slowly, unwillingly, parted.

"I must go now. I will always love you, my lady," Gorim said. Sereda closed her eyes, basking in the lingering echo of his words in the air. She heard slow footsteps walk away, hesitate at one point—perhaps he had turned around—and then grow further. She kept her eyes tightly closed, not wanting to open them and find that he was gone. In the darkness, she crawled on her hands and knees and scrambled for the corner of the cell, resuming her crouched position. You've won Bhelen, her mind rasped, you've won. I hope it was worth it.

**...**

Sereda stared at the vast horizon. The skies had begun to show signs of awakening, pastel pink and orange hues streaking across the pacific blue canvass. Alistair seemed to have been rendered speechless. Meanwhile, morning sounds of her other companions yawning and rumbling awake began to come from the surrounding tents.

"We will find Gorim," Alistair finally said.

"It's the only hope that keeps me alive," Sereda replied and stood up. Dusting herself off, she headed towards the lake to bathe.

**...**

**Author Statement:** As I imagine many others felt, my PC and I were heartbroken to find Gorim married in Denerim. Quite honestly, I simply could not believe it. During that walkthrough, I literally felt as though the only motivation my dear dwarven noble gal had to live was the hope of finding Gorim on the surface. So I raced and searched and when I found him, I literally made my character run to him. (Yes, yes, laugh if you like. I won't mind ) The ensuing conversation made me feel as though I had gotten slapped in the face and my saddened dwarf spent the rest of her walkthrough with severe emotional issues. I couldn't help constantly feeling like it was so out of character for Gorim, loyal and trustworthy Gorim, to flip his emotions like that. I just had to come up with a reason, a valid reason, why Gorim would do that. For my sanity's sake! So as it goes on, this story will explore and elucidate reasons why Gorim felt he had to marry so soon and has an unexpected twist waiting for everyone wanting to see Gorim and Lady Aeducan together again! Also explains a possible reason why he would be willing to return to Orzammar and be her second-in-command again at the end. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was their second day on the road to Denerim and the heat was beginning to seem daunting. Wiping her brow for what seemed to be the millionth time, Sereda almost wished she were in the cold confines of the Circle Tower, hunting down abominations. Almost.

She wondered what Denerim would be like. The capital of Ferelden. The bard had told her Denerim was Ferelden's heart, with strong walls and beauty. Sereda's thoughts drifted to Orzammar. It did not truly have a singular heart, she decided, but ventricles that crossed and joined and overlapped, spanning the entire city, including the Deep Roads. Orzammar. She felt the familiar lurch within her stomach that she always did when she thought of Orzammar. So much pain had been brought upon her there, but when she remembered it, her first memories were of sitting on her father's knee as a child, play acting court procedures and conduct, eyes shining as her father laughed. She would puff out her cheeks—somehow her child logic had made her think it gave her a distinguished look—and pronounce decrees. From the very start, she had been most fond of rules that had as their core tenets mercy and progress. Her father had been much amused when one day she had taken it upon herself to write out mock histories in one of her little notebooks for those whose records were not present within the Shaperate.

"The Shaper will be furious, my daughter!" King Endrin had roared with his characteristic hearty laugh. With a great deal of interest, he read her histories. 'Trestor Malaer, casteless from birth, nevertheless has shown himself a great friend of nugs. Indeed, just the other day, he was seen feeding a nug a particularly delicious looking rat.' 'Lolly Ramane, casteless from marriage to such, has hair the color of embers as they are dying. It is at that moment they shine their brightest. Her interests include sitting in the sun and playing with her baby.' Sereda had filled the entire notebook with stories of people she had imagined and their tales and the king had sat with her and read them all carefully. After much grinning and merrymaking, he had sat her down in front of him and looked at her, face turning serious.

"My daughter," he had said, "you are young and kind. But you do understand that the casteless are not within the records for a reason, do you not? They are the sons and daughters of bad people—criminals—and are punished as such." Sereda had looked at her father, her blue eyes opening wide.

"But father, isn't it terrible to punish someone for being born? What if I had been born to a casteless?" King Endrin frowned, eyebrows knitting close together as he surveyed his progeny's earnest expression. He did not immediately speak and the grand hall echoed with Sereda's words. Sereda bit her lip, suddenly nervous, feeling that she had crossed some unspoken boundary but unsure of what it was. There was silence for a long moment. Then, making a silent decision, King Endrin broke out into a smile and shook his head, hugging his daughter to his chest.

"My beloved daughter, I should still love you," he said.

Sereda shook as she remembered that moment. The air did not seem quite so warm as before. Perhaps that was the solution to the heat. Continuing to remember things that chilled her to the bone.

"You know, Alistair, the hot weather is good to you. The disheveled hair, the discarding of the heavy armor, the vaguely angry facial expression. Women find that much more attractive than your usual…how shall we say…puppy dog motif," Zevran said. Sereda jerked out of her reverie to catch a mischievous smile on her companion's face. Next to him, Leliana stifled a giggle. Alistair was not pleased.

"Oh yeah? Well, I like my…motif…just fine, thank you."

"You can recreate this look, you know. It need not be merely heat induced. Waving the hair just so, a few drops of water strategically placed—"

"If you don't mind, I've told you to keep your glorious advice to yourself." Alistair glared at Zevran, who smiled innocently. Sereda felt the corners of her mouth twitch herself; she half expected Zevran to begin to whistle.

"You know, Zevran has a point. You do look quite handsome like this, Alistair," Leliana said, her eyes twinkling impishly.

"I…uh…oh. Ahem. Well, thanks...I think. Oh, must we all continue this conversation?" Just then, before he could receive an answer, a resounding crack came from beyond the edges of the road, within the forest. All four of them turned their heads, hands reaching for weapons and potions, their bodies assuming battle stances. A moment of silence followed; then a sharper crack.

They came out of nowhere from all directions. The first one—an Ogre Alpha—emerged from the trees where they had heard the noises and roared, thumping its chest. The sound emanated like wild drums beating to a precarious melody of death. Darkspawn rushed the group from all sides, a mass of thick bodies and disfigured flesh.

"Assume formation three!" Sereda yelled, running towards the Ogre Alpha. Behind her, Zevran faded into an invisible stealth mode; Sereda knew he would creep to directly behind the Ogre Alpha. Alistair swung his sword around and plunged it through a darkspawn flanking Sereda, then moved alongside her, clearing as many of the creatures as he could. Leliana, farther away, aimed her bow and picked off the darkspawn at the edges of their group, lessening their outer shields.

Sereda kicked out, then swung back in quickly to protect herself from the retaliatory attack she knew the ogre would follow with. The ogre bellowed and knocked her off her feet by slamming the ground, the shockwave from it leaving her reeling. Fast as she could, she pushed herself back on her feet and launched another attack on the ogre, battling it with all the sword techniques she knew, one after the other. Gorim would have been proud to see this, she thought. If he was here with me, he'd relish my improvement. Her mind drifted to the way they fought together; it had been a rather unique technique, comprised of everything from simple to complicated maneuvers. The best part had always been their almost mind reading synchronization, sensing the other's move before it was made, enabling them to defend and bolster each other's movements reflexively in split seconds. She may never feel that connected to anyone again, she realized, her strength ebbing. The sword seemed heavier and a dull pain stung her muscles. So tired. If only she could sleep for a few moments. Suddenly Sereda felt her waist ache. She looked down; a sharp gash had formed on her side. The ogre. Ancestors' blood, she had to focus on that ogre. It swung at her then, powerfully, and its hand came into contact with her waist. The beast lifted her up, its iron grip tightening around her like a vise. From behind the beast, Zevran made his move, attacking at lightning speed. Temporarily stunned, the beast howled, flailing its arms wildly. Ceasing her advantage, Sereda leapt up onto the ogre and sliced her sword through it. It fell.

The rest of the darkspawn were soon disposed of and the party sat down, breathing hard.

"It just never gets easier, does it?" Alistair sighed. Sereda didn't answer; she was trying not to mention the wounds the ogre had managed to land. It had come so close to destroying her. She winced. Too close for comfort. But this wasn't the time to dwell on it; it would only slow them down and time was of the essence. She tried to smile.

"Nope. And that's the way us Grey Wardens prefer it. Come on, Alistair, don't you remember when you were clamoring to be part of the fight, way back in Ostagar?" she finally said, keeping her tone deliberately light. Alistair smiled tightly, his lips turning a bit pale.

"Ostagar. So long ago. I wish I could forget all about it, like a dream when you awaken. Sometimes I think…Maker's breath! You're bleeding!" Sereda looked down at herself; indeed, the area above her armor had turned red and she knew that if removed, blood would be seen gushing from various areas on her body. Alistair rushed to where they had thrown their packs before the fight, scrambling for their injury kits. Zevran and Leliana moved to Sereda, helping her out of her armor and gauging her wounds and their severity.

"It's nothing really," she tried to protest. "We need to keep moving."

"Yes, because when you fall unconscious from the blood loss, we'll be sure to quicken our pace," Alistair said, his face grim. "Sereda, let us help you." Sereda sighed, but didn't object further. It was true that she was beginning to feel rather dizzy, even as they were speaking. As though there were a gentle rumbling earthquake beneath her feet, scrambling her mind.

"This isn't good, that ogre did quite a bit of damage," Leliana said, her thin eyebrows furrowed with worry. Zevran frowned, but said nothing, moving to the injury kits Alistair had lain out and extracting some herbs and gauze. Silently, he began to grind and mix the herbs.

"I wish Wynne were here. We really should bring her. I just worry, her being so…well, elderly, and all that. Sometimes I feel rather like she'd simply break in battle, like a worn branch or daisy stalk. But then again, she is a wonderful healer and at times like these…oh, but I'm rambling again. I'm sorry. I'm…concerned, that's all," Leliana finished nervously. Zevran's frown deepened and his hands worked quickly to fashion a poultice. Meanwhile, Alistair cleaned the wounds with water from their flask.

"Perhaps I should…sit for a while," Sereda said, her voice sounding oddly distant to her. She tried to look cheery, but she felt faint. Her body was tumbling, though it wasn't, and wasn't that Bhelen in the distance? She shook her head. Her mind was blurring, regurgitating age old images. She felt pressure the sides of her waist and upper chest, where Zevran was no doubt dabbing his herbal mixtures and Leliana was softly singing something. A tune, a lovely tune, but somehow it seemed to be getting softer. Then it faded out and the sky turned black.

**...**

She woke hours later, to the strangest sensation of weightless movement. Tilting up her head, she saw Alistair and Zevran carrying her in what seemed to be thick cloth material. They had made a comfortable thing of it, each carrying one end and allowing her to sway gently as they moved. As she turned her head about, she could see that the trees had receded a bit and the path had grown wider than she last remembered.

"Ah, decided to join us, have you?" Zevran's voice streamed from near her feet. "Well, I can't say I'm not relieved." Leliana rushed to her side, the bard bending her head and examining Sereda carefully.

"You look a bit better. The bleeding has stopped at least. Is there anything I can get you? Water? Food? Perhaps something sweet, yes? Let me look." Sereda raised a hand weakly.

"No, that's fine," Sereda said slowly, her words slurring a bit.

"Ah yes, your voice will do that for a while. You, my friend, are not easy to knock out," Zevran said, the hint of a smile in his voice. Sereda let her head swing back, her forehead aching with guilt. She had broken the cardinal rule: Never let your personal issues compromise you or your team during battle.

"We should be reaching Denerim soon," Alistair said, looking over his shoulder. "Just another few hours now." Sereda tried to lift her head and nod, but it felt as though it were filled with rocks. Later. She would nod later. For the moment, sleep would be her peace.

**...**

Amid the sound of voices and laughter and chanting, Sereda stirred. Eyes still glazed, she rubbed them into clarity. Around her, sounds of life and bustle filled the air. Vendors, priests from the chantry, noblewomen perusing goods and chiding their maids. And colors! So many colors. Weapons carved from steel with hints of rubies encrusted on their hilts, scarves of the finest spun silk, even bottles of ale and violet wine.

"It is quite lovely," Leliana was saying. "Though not as ornate as Orlais, it has a certain rustic charm that is unmistakable." Alistair was surveying the marketplace, looking a bit nervous. Glancing at Sereda, he saw that she was awake and grinned.

"Ah! Our valiant leader awakens once more. Tell me you can walk now because quite frankly, all this hunching must be simply _murderous_ for my figure." He chuckled. Sereda said nothing.

"Oh fine, you don't have to laugh. See if I ever laugh at your jokes. Unless it's really funny. You may break me then," Alistair said, mock pouting. Then his face turned serious. Sereda was looking off into the distance as though she had seen a ghost.

"Sereda…Sereda, are you alright?" he asked. Sereda barely heard the question. Her mind reeled and she felt as though she was floating, high above all that she saw. It couldn't be true. This was the beginning of the end; her mind was lost. Her burden of pain had finally claimed her sanity and her mind had brought her here, to the one image she could find solace in. For it couldn't be true. She felt herself lowering her body off the cloth Alistair and Zevran had been carrying her in, feet touching the ground but numb. Without saying a word, she began to walk in a brisk stride, then broke out into a run, pushing through the swarm of women, sellers, children, and animals. Her wounds still unhealed, she felt them ache and burn through her skin as she pushed her body, racing as fast as she could. Then finally, out of breath, with tears clutching the edges of her eyes, she stood motionless in front of a seller calling out, "Dwarven crafts! Fine dwarven crafts! Direct from Orzammar! You won't find better—" He halted, midway.

"My lady?" Sereda's heart stopped.

Gorim.

**...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The breeze had turned silent and held its breath. A solitary crow cawed some distance off; then thought better of it and disappeared into the white skies, perhaps sensing the tension within its radius. Sereda was staring in front of her as though she had been turned into an alabaster statue, her feet seeming to weld themselves into the ground and force her still. The blue pupils set above a red gash still fresh from the ogre's nails grew dilated, glossy as a doll's. Silently, she watched as the man in front of her dropped the wares he was holding and took a step forward, eyes fixed on her with the intensity of burning coals within the Deep Roads.

"I knew you survived," he said, his voice low and deep. "I never stopped believing it. And neither did your father. Before I left for the surface, King Endrin sent for me. It was almost more than I could endure, seeing him so." Sereda felt her body tremble. Echoes from the past, names she hadn't heard from another's lips for so long. Father. King Endrin. And the man whose image she had clenched within her heart for so long…standing before her at long last. She wrapped her arms around herself; her body had begun to shiver. She had waited so long, prayed to her ancestors for respite till her words bled into one another from repetition. But now that she was within it, it overwhelmed her: the moment had grown and become larger than she could fathom. Images flashed through her mind as though she were watching them in front of her, memories from a more generous time. A man, a brave warrior who bowed to her, not out of fear but love. His eyes had twinkled as they stood before others in public and spoke to one another formally; theirs were the secrets of moonlight, warmth, and ancestral stone carved into the darkness by willing smiths. As Sereda stood before him now, she wanted to cry, to fall at his feet and allow all the pain she had felt to flow into the earth, quenching its thirst and releasing her from hers. But somehow she found she couldn't move or even speak. Perhaps this was a dream. A cruel dream. Not unlike many others she had endured in the rare times her body had fallen by mere exhaustion and slept, restless and unsettled.

"King Endrin…it was as though he were long dead and rotten, and now merely an empty husk, collapsing in on itself. He could not even rise from his bed, and the room stank of decay," Gorim said slowly, focused on a point above her head. The clouds shifted past languidly. Almost mocking in their indifference. He paused, eyes scrunching closed as though in great agony. Opened. Impassive. A veil lay over those eyes, one Sereda knew well.

"He asked me…to give you the Shield of Aeducan," Gorim continued. "And this letter." Sereda tilted her head. The world spun round her and she watched, as though merely an observer. Somewhere beside her, two noblewomen laughed about the mishaps of a particularly inept maid. A child ran with his dog, encouraging it to master the trick of jumping on command. The seller behind her said something about swords that she didn't quite catch. Words flit through her mind, but they were fragmented and muddled. There was an odd almost theatrical feel to the encounter as if she were in a play and needed to act her part, but the words had been read far too long ago and all the lines forgotten and unfamiliar.

"The shield…I had almost forgotten about it," she finally said, her voice sounding strange and tinny to her ears. Behind her, she heard the footsteps of her approaching companions. Judging by the sound, they had stopped some distance back and were now watching silently. In front of her, Gorim's face remained expressionless.

"I have carried them with me since I left Orzammar. As angry as I once was with the king, when I saw him that final time…I pitied him. His eyes have haunted me since. If it were possible for a man to die of regret, I think King Endrin did." Gorim exhaled and a glimmer of sadness stole into his gaze. It vanished again in a flash and Sereda wondered whether she had imagined it. It was all so strange. Gorim's words seemed so far away and rehearsed. Sereda felt her insides churning; she knew that blank look he wore. She almost smiled bitterly, remembering the all too many times one of her brothers had said something insulting to Gorim and his face had turned to stone, masking the turmoil beneath. Or when she would tell him she would sooner die than marry another. The same expression, shrouded and hard, a cloak of shadows behind which dwelled wells of emotion.

There was something amiss. Sereda looked at Gorim, frowning slightly. She had always been able to read him during the days of old, back when they knew each other's every thought. For the first time she felt distance between them. The empty space, not spanning more than a foot physically, but as divisive as the walls between the Diamond Quarter and Orzammar Commons. Why did he look so severe, now that everything was to be bearable again?

"But…we shouldn't dwell on the past," he said, interrupting her thoughts. His voice had the barest hint of a quiver. "I can hardly tell you how good it is to see you alive."

"I thought I'd never see you again," Sereda said, voice barely a whisper. She felt a lone tear stain her cheek and ducked her head quickly, pretending to brush away tendrils of her hair. Gorim's eyes turned black and his jaw set itself into a hard line.

"But now you shall rejoin me as my second and everything will be better…won't it?" Sereda asked. She felt as though she were painfully young once more, every sinew of her body vulnerable and pleading.

"I was injured in my travels here. My leg healed crooked and I will never fight again," Gorim said, his voice casual. Too casual. Sereda controlled herself. She wanted to say that she was sorry, that she had missed him desperately, that she would do her best to make sure he was healed. But something told her to wait, to be silent. The air had turned poisonous, viscous and purplish-blue. Something was profoundly wrong. She did not have to wait long; it came swiftly. Sharp. As a knife slicing through the body of an enemy, cold and detached.

"I have a new life now. I married into a surface family. My wife is lovely and her father is the best smith in Denerim. We're…expecting our firstborn before the spring," Gorim said. His tone was nonchalant, as though he were commenting on the weather and oh, wouldn't it be lovely if they had a spot of rain? No. No, this wasn't possible. The ancestors wouldn't be so merciless as to add such weight to her burden. She was suddenly aware of her wounds throbbing and when her fingers grazed her sides, she felt the light dripping of blood. Slowly, she put pressure on the area, wanting to feel the pain, to make sure she was awake, alive, still within her senses. The agony intensified. A part of her screamed at her to run and flee away from this nightmare. But the other part—the part she had locked away hoping to one day allow it to rejoin her, were she to be reunited with her heart—wanted to stay, to beg to know why, to beseech him to remember the vow he had uttered to love her forever.

"But…what about us?" she heard herself saying. The earth was sinking and she almost smiled. She would know oblivion soon. Gorim had turned his head downwards, his expression no longer visible.

"Even in Orzammar, we both knew it couldn't last. I was honored by the time we shared, but…you are a princess. I'm not even a warrior anymore." Almost to himself, he softly whispered, "You are a princess." Sereda knew then that she had to leave. She had to leave before she lost all control of her senses. Rage coursed through her like white fire, and she was spent.

"You jerk," she growled, voice quivering, "I hope you and your ugly wife rot together." As she turned around, she heard him behind her, apologizing, saying that he had never meant to hurt her, asking for her forgiveness. Words. Mere words. Meaningless and futile. Forgiveness? She almost wanted to laugh. Laugh till hysteria took hold of her. Forgiveness. What was forgiveness when compared to the sanctity she had preserved their love within, in a place she only kept her prayers and worship for the ancestors and Paragons. What was forgiveness compared to desperate longing. She had nothing more left to give; how, then, could she pardon him? She took two steps forward, eyes rising to meet those of her companions for a moment. They all seemed stunned into silence. Alistair moved forward, his eyes questioning. She closed her eyes, giving the barest of nods. Without a word, he moved forward and grasped her around the shoulders, leading her away.

**...**

Sereda sunk her hands into the earth, feeling the moist dirt clench and then release her fingers. The evening was calm, crisp winds making their way through the skies. Her companions had left her alone after they struck up camp. They had walked to the outskirts of Denerim, away from the main marketplace area, and had put up their tents in a clearing near the forests. Noiselessly, Alistair walked up to her and sat down, cross legged, next to her.

"That was Gorim," he said. It was a statement, not a question. She mutely nodded.

"I'm…sorry." They fell into silence for several moments. Sereda traced figures into the dirt, then spread them apart, blowing the pieces away into the wind.

"The others…will perhaps ask questions." He hesitated. "If…if you wouldn't mind too terribly, it may be best to tell them too. I won't, of course, if you'd rather I didn't." Sereda nodded. As quietly as possible, he pushed himself up and walked away. Sereda slowly smeared her hands with the dirt. What did it matter who knew now? Not now, now that the sky had turned red and unfamiliar, and her heart to the dust that gathered on warriors' graves long forgotten. Her father had died of sorrow, and now she would too. One corner of her mouth turned up, twisting her face. She had always been her father's daughter.

She felt the weight on her back and reached over her shoulder. The weight transferred to her palm and she heaved down the Shield of Aeducan in front of her. Her mud stained fingers traced the shield lovingly, as a mother would a child. It was beautiful, etched in grey and emerald and brown. The pride and burden of her lineage. She brought her head down and rested it upon the shield, feeling its presence. Within it she was not Sereda, broken and defeated, but a young girl dancing through courtyards and merchant quarters, with crinkled eyes and laughter flowing like the butter ale she and Gorim had sometimes sneaked from the local tavern, sonorous and carefree. She was a woman who had defiantly pulled the man she loved to her in a much frequented palace corridor and closed her eyes as their lips touched, his embrace branding her body. And she was still innocent, with a heart pure and open, believing that things would work themselves out for the best if she meant no ill will for others. Her shoulders shook. So far had she come since then. So many scars. Visible and hidden. Her body would break before long and perhaps that was for the best. Alistair was stronger than he let others realize. He would make a good leader when the time called upon him to do so. He did not need her. They did not need her. She was slipping already, becoming a burden. She must walk away before she allowed her companions to suffer for her regrets.

**...**

The night was dark, save for slivers of starlight; perfect for her intentions. With a firm hand, she forced herself to write a note for her companions.

My esteemed friends,

Forgive me, but I must leave. I am no longer of value to our cause and fear my presence shall thrust the rest of you into harm's way. My mind is fleeing my grasp, and I cannot speak for my stability.

I shall travel to Orzammar where perhaps they will allow their wretched princess of late entry so that she may go to the Deep Roads where she was meant to die long ago. I have cheated death, and this is my punishment.

If you shall accept one last missive from your elected leader, please accept Alistair in my place. He is strong, kind, and intelligent; he will make an excellent leader if called upon to be. As for you, Alistair, I beseech you to accept the mantle and burden I leave for you and bear it better than I.

Zevran, you are perhaps the only person I have ever been glad to have been almost assassinated by. You are more compassionate than you wish others to believe, and far more thoughtful. May your life be filled with as much pleasure as this transient life permits.

Leliana, sweet Leliana, may your melodies traverse to the far reaches of the earth into lands that need peace and healing. You have a beautiful soul.

Please tell the others I wish all my ancestors' blessings upon them.

My best wishes be with you all,

Sereda

Silently she reached behind her neck and unclasped the Warden's Oath amulet she wore round it always as a reminder of her promise. She let it rest in her hands for a long moment, feeling each thread and its clasp onto the next. Her hands caressing the amulet, she placed it on top of the note, setting both in the center of her tent. Pushing herself up, she swung the backpack she had prepared over her shoulders and walked out her tent, letting its folds close behind her. She allowed herself one last look. The quiet tents. The gently burning fire, slowly dying out. The water flask and the injury kits Alistair had left nearby in case her wounds should worsen. She exhaled, almost smiling. Turning around, she walked towards the trees and opening her arms, let the shadows claim her.

**...**

**Author's Note:** Just thought I'd mention that this is by no means the end of the story, though it may seem like it! And many thanks to everyone who has reviewed/supported my little endeavor thus far, I really appreciate it.


End file.
